hakyona 2016
by thir13enth
Summary: a series of unrelated one-shots for HakYona Week 2016
1. hold steady my arrow, my heart

**psa:** individual and unrelated drabbles for HakYona Week 2016. all other hakyona stuff i will soon compile into a big drabble/one-shot dump because the amount of writing i have on my profile is ridiculous and i'm too sentimental to get rid of everything just yet.

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 **notes:** for Hakyona Week: prompt **I love you**. (first time participating, and very excited. this one is a little rambly if anything, with apologies)

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 **hold steady my arrow, my heart**  
 _There's a million ways to say it, but none of them matter more than you._

* * *

Four hours since the moon rose and the crickets began chirping and she is still shooting.

Shooting is meditation to her, in a sense. Somewhere between the first and second hour, her right arm stopped complaining about her incessant practicing, her left hand couldn't tell the difference between bow and arrow tip, and her fingers numbed to blisters. There's a tight muscle knot between shoulder blades and her heels ache from standing too long and she has at least three drops of sweat at her brow itching to be wiped off by the back of her hand and every muscle in her wants to collapse and she is still shooting.

It's when her wooden practice splits into two—cracking from the center where she's accomplished many bullseyes—when Hak steps out of the shadows.

She's not surprised because she's known he's been there for the past half of her practice session but she still can't help but be overly self-conscious about every movement she makes—from the way she stops and puts aside her bow, sets down her arrow sack, walks over to her broken target, bends down to pick up the splintered and shot wood, everything, everything—

She brushes back her hair behind her ear, unconsciously at first, but then thinks of him watching her tuck her tresses in place. She purses her lips as she considers how to make another target to shoot, unconsciously at first, but then thinks of him watching the movements of her mouth. And every little thing she does is watched, and she tells herself not to care but at the same time she _knows_ he cares, and what's worse is that she knows _why_ he does, and that as he does, he only has three words on his mind for her and—

Well. The attention is better for her anyway.

Knowing that she affects him, knowing that she _matters_ to him—it all pushes her to be better.

This pressure is good for her, she assures herself, and she recites this mantra loud in her head—louder than all the self-conscious comments—until suddenly she feels his heavy hand on her left shoulder and she sees his shadow loom against the moonlight before her, and everything stops, and he says:

"That's probably enough for tonight."

She turns her head up. Her eyes reach his, without hesitation.

"No," she tells him. "I'm going to keep going."

His eyes don't flicker as they used to when she did something he didn't like.

He's changing, she realizes. He's changing _because_ of her.

But there's one thing that she knows hasn't changed about him, and these three words, he tells her in his silence, in his letting go of her shoulder and letting her go on with her practice routine.

These three words, he tells her in the way he wraps fresh cloth around her callused fingers, in the way he rubs cooling salve over her warm swollen skin and doesn't for a moment try to fluster her by 'accidentally' grazing his lips to her skin.

These three words, he tells her in the way he passes her water from the flask he's brought with him, in the way he makes sure that she has a drink for her throat she doesn't even realize is parched and how he doesn't hold the cup up to her lips and respects her own strength.

These three words, he tells her in the way he slowly lets go of the fact that she doesn't want to always rely on him and how he understands that her independence is one of the things she values most.

Three words he tells in an incalculable number of ways.

Three words meaning only one thing: I love you.

She remembers this, as she draws her next round of practice arrows, as he slips back into the shadows, and she finds she can pull her arrows back that much further.

* * *

figuring out the title for this one was the biggest pain of my day. or at least the hour. ahaha, i guess it kinda fits?

 **thir13enth**


	2. testing, testing 123

**notes:** for Hakyona Week: prompt **realization**.

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 **testing, testing 123**  
 _They kiss, and it's only then he realizes._

* * *

When they kiss, they are wanting, unbridled, instinctual, carnal—in every way unlike their past incalculable number of tense embraces, careful caresses, hesitant glances that have guarded their relationship as princess and protector since birth.

Her face was fair white under the pale bright moon that night. Her eyes were dark deep pools to drown in. Her cheeks were untainted by any blushes, any warnings to remind him that he was inching too close to her. She was completely open and he was completely caught and trapped in by all the features of her god beautiful complexion.

But at that moment all he saw was her lips.

Her lips like ready-to-blossom roses, like ripe peach skin, like dew on the blade of a leaf after the night's rain. They are possessing, magnetic, and he finds himself gravitating south because there is absolutely no other direction that he can imagine going.

And so, when they kiss, they are fire.

Fire burning hot between their lips, their tongues like the glare of the sunset casting scarlet light over the kingdom. Fire spreading fast over his hands, her skin like the blood running in the dragons' veins. Fire consuming hungry at the base of their hearts, at the tops of their lungs like the rage of a million armies taking back their homeland.

Fire so strong and possessed and taking completely over—

but just like a flame on a candle it goes out with the slightest of breaths, and it's in this held breath that he realizes something.

Just like how the tide eventually pulls away from the beach at the slightest shift of the moon, he too eventually pulls away from her. But the kiss was shorter than she expected and she knows all too well what this means.

She doesn't like asking him questions about love because he always gives her such cryptic answers but this time she needs him loud and clear.

"Hak?" she thus asks. _Is something wrong?_

"I guess..." he starts, slow, cautious, testing –but not the least bit uncertain.

 _Yes_. She knows is the unhedged answer. And it's then that she begins to feel that unbearable pain in her chest again—the one that never quite faded after she had been broken by some other man now sitting in a throne already.

"Maybe I was only in love with the idea of being with you," he tells her.

And oh, that's too bad, because now she's already fallen for him.

* * *

i'm sorry. i just...i had to.

 **thir13enth**


	3. red string of fate

**notes:** for Hakyona Week: prompt **gift**.

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 **red strings of fate**  
 _He can never find the perfect gift for her._

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When he sees the jade-carved flower hair ornament—adorned with curls of silver and strings of pearls—sparkling on the merchant's counter, the first thing he think is how good it would look in her hair and how it seemed to _belong_ within her wavy red tresses.

He smiles—if anything, to himself—and immediately reaches for the item but his hand stops midway to the hairclip because he suddenly thinks:

Is this what _he_ thought when _he_ gave her _that_ hair clip?

And it pisses him off, enough for his nails to dig hard into his palms, enough for his teeth to clench tight at his jaw, enough for his eyes to turn hot and blind with rage because he _knows_ Soo Won is always planning something.

He _knows_ Soo Won knows that she would clutch _his_ hair piece tight to her heart and cradle this symbol of what her nostalgic perfect youth was—she would never get rid of it.

He _knows_ Soo Won knows that every now and then _his_ hair piece would slip out of her bag and Hak would see it and remind himself that _he_ had been the love interest and not Hak—and Hak _still_ can't figure out why exactly she _still_ has that wretched thing.

And he _knows_ Soo Won is sitting back against a throne wiped dry of the King's spilled blood smirking to himself knowing that Hak is looking at a selection of accessories to give to the Princess for her birthday soon to come and that Hak is thinking of her but most of all of _him_ and—

He can feel nothing but anger, but rage, but sheer fury.

And so he fists his hand back into his sleeve, grip tightened around his quandao, eyes averted from the pretty jade thing, and he remembers why.

Why he feels his chest tight when her eyes glaze over, thinking about the past. Why he feels his heart ache when he thinks of what he could have done better to prevent this all from the start. Why he keeps his hands to himself even though he cannot bear to be further than a footstep away from her. Why he hesitates whenever he is about to confesses why he cares, and cares _so much_ for her. Why every. single. time. he wakes up in the middle of the night breathing heavy from a nightmare of the very first time he saw Yona _truly cry_. Why—

—he can't give Yona pretty things.

It is all because of that sullied royal king.

And it is all the more reason to destroy him.

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kinda hakyona-y. lol i'm sorry. i did two upsetting drabbles in a row. i'll try again next time.

 **thir13enth**


	4. expecting

**notes** : for HakYona Week: prompt **protect**. (with all apologies, I offer this short piece. so many fandom weeks in the summer! I must admit that I'm getting fatigued, ahhh.)

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 **expecting**  
 _He isn't going to protect anyone else but her. Well. Then there's him._

* * *

And while every single thing about Hak's life has changed more than he would have ever guessed in his life, the one thing that remains is his habit of waking up just minutes before dawn comes.

So, like any other morning as the sun steadily rises above the horizon, Hak overlooks the kingdom from inside the castle. Soft scarlet sunlight covers the very tops of the tallest trees and the edges of the highest roofs. Everything is enshrouded in a deep calm peaceful red for just a moment before the sun crawls completely over the mountaintops of the east, and in what seems like a flash, the sky turns blue and the world is alight in white.

It's a sight that he's learned to value, even more from within the kingdom after the many months beyond its borders, after days and days of sleeping on the cold hard ground and worrying about if every step they were taking was one in the right direction.

Then, they could have only hoped that all the stars would align and fate would roll into place, but even now when the crown has been finally delivered to the rightful heir and everything else has been said and done, come and gone, loved and lost.

None of this had been planned from the beginning, he supposes. None of-

"Hak," she calls from behind him.

Thoughts interrupted, he looks behind him, turning his entire body in her direction.

He admires for a moment the way that the morning light glows over Yona's sleep-flushed cheeks and shines off her wavy red hair.

There aren't many other sights he wishes to wake up to every day and the fact that he does reminds him that _yes_ everything is right with the world at least and that _yes_ they can lie in bed together comfortably for another five minutes if they wanted to because _yes_ they have worked to get to this point and finally finally got there.

And while even he couldn't deny he had been hoping for _all this_ in the darkest, smallest, most-tucked-away corner of his heart, he most certainly had not been expecting to be able to also hold _her_ small hands without a pang of guilt, without an afterthought of shame, without a single hesitation for what his display of affection might mean between them.

Yona was, is, and will always remain the only person he wants to protect but well…looking at her gravid stomach and seeing her small proud smile at thinking of the son soon to be in her arms, he supposes that he'll soon have to make room in his heart for another one.

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as always, with much thank yous for reading and comments greatly appreciated.

 **thir13enth**


	5. growth

**notes** : technically this was written a long time ago but i completely forgot to post it. with apologies. for prompt: **growth**.

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 **just a kiss apart**  
 _She swore she'd grow to be taller than him._

* * *

They were barely past the age of single digits and they were already head-to-head in a lifelong competition with each other — that of height.

And so far, Yona was winning — and she took every opportunity she got to point this out to Hak.

"Some _guard_ you are," she'd tease him, reminding him that she was, indeed, that small fraction of an inch taller than he was, measuring from the tops of their heads with the flat of her hand and comparing between them. "You'll always be shorter than me."

He'd scoff and tell her that it would only be a matter of time before he would tower over her. He was _supposed_ to protect her after all — like the king said — and when the going got tough in the future, it wouldn't make too much sense if he couldn't shield her body behind his.

"I'm going to be taller than you — just you watch," he'd tell her.

"Whatever," she'd retort. She was steadfast and stubborn like her unruly hair, and if there was one thing that she absolutely refused to do, it was to admit that she knew he was right.

Hak knew this, of course, but he'd continue to go along with whatever she said ("Yes, yes, princess.") and even as he surpassed her by an inch the next month, then by a foot the next, he'd still carry her joke forward ("I haven't stopped growing _yet_ , Hak.") and nod his head in agreement.

Now, they are still at "close" odds with each other, and she is not letting down the competition, even as she knows she needs to tilt her head far back to meet his eyes. And even with at least ten inches to catch up to, she still tries to match his height so that she can be someone he wants to _respect_ and not just admire.

So she stands as tall and as proud as she can – but her tiptoes can only get her so far: Her nose doesn't reach further than his chest, and her hands only stretch as high as his shoulders.

Fortunately this doesn't matter, because he stoops down to close the distance between their lips anyway.

* * *

 **thir13enth**


End file.
